


A Few Thoughts About Fire, Mercy, and Death

by CoralChimaera



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, In this house, i love and hate this game, this was written out of frustration, we hate maxwell when he's on the throne, willow has died so many times because of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 19:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19302325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralChimaera/pseuds/CoralChimaera
Summary: Starving, Willow contemplates what will come next.





	A Few Thoughts About Fire, Mercy, and Death

     Willow was so hungry.

     So, so hungry.

     It wasn’t even winter yet, still a mild and pleasant autumn. The birds were chirping, the butterflies were fluttering, and the bees were busy pollinating the flowers.

     Yes. The birds she couldn’t catch, the butterflies that always outflew her, and the hive of bees that nearly killed her a week ago.

     By now, she scurried desperately to places she hadn’t been, locations yet to be marked on her map. She was so hungry, anything, anything would be better.

     Even her life before.

     Living in the street, that was miserable. But at least the occasional passerby took pity on her, gave her scraps of food or change. Those days were a blur, her past was a blur, as though it was a blank, a blank space that had yet to be filled in by its creator.

     She still remembered some things though.

     The orphanage. The nuns that forced her on her knees to pray, pray for salvation for a sin she couldn’t control. A devil child, they called her. Tainted by sin and unloved by the Almighty.

     Willow never knew why she didn’t burn.

     She always remembered the night so well.

     The night the orphanage was set aflame.

     She didn’t mean to set the room on fire. It was an accident, but that was the moment she realized how the flames danced, warm and inviting. Licking and climbing, swaying and fluttering like the finest crimson silks.

     Things were so much prettier when they burned.

     But now, here she was, starving to death.

     Willow wanted to die. Death would be so much better than this half life, cursed to die again and again but always brought back to a different world. And the dreaded words—

_Say pal, you don’t look so good._

     She lost track of how many times she heard those words. She hated them with all her being, wanted to douse it in gasoline and drop a match on it.

     She loved smoke, even though people said it was bad for her. She wasn’t affected by fire nor smoke, but she loathed the scent of cigars.

     She refused to pick red flowers, even as her body screamed to be healed, even as her mind begged to be repaired.

     She refused to wear black silk, even when she was freezing or her garments were in tatters.

      She refused to smirk. She hated smirking.

     Another stabbing pain in her stomach. Willow staggered forward, collapsing. She was so hungry, and she frantically scrabbled at the dirt, hoping for something edible. A seed, or even a mole.

     No such luck.

     Willow wanted to die.

     No, no. Willow wanted Death.

     Dying meant starting over. Dying again meant starving again. Dying again meant pain again.

     Death was peaceful, all encompassing. Would swallow her up and let her finally rest.

     Dying was seeing a fleeting vision of Death, only to be whisked back to the beginning again.

     Even better, Death meant she was going to either Heaven or Hell. The nuns always told her she would be going to Hell, but Hell didn’t seem so bad anymore.

     At least the nuns' Hell had fire. Willow's Hell was freezing, mind numbingly cold, and populated by slippery shadows and demons of a different sort. Demons with cigars and fine silk suits, with red flowers and arrogant laughter that rang in her ears.

     Death would be a gift.

     But no.

     She had to play Maxwell's game. If the Constant was a chessboard and Maxwell the king, the game never stopped until the king was killed. it would only be a matter of time before she traversed the five worlds and burned him on his own throne.

     And maybe then, she’d finally be free.

     But for now, she’d have to try again. Start over in a different world, one equally unforgiving and equally dreadful.

     The hunger was so strong. It roared within her like a caged beast, roaring for sustenance. Willow hated to tell her stomach that sustenance wouldn’t be coming. The world was going red, flashing before her eyes and roiling, a sign she would be succumbing to her hunger quite soon.

     She sighed and rolled on her side. Absently taking her lighter out of her pocket, she lit the grass next to her, lips quirking into a tired smile as the tiny flames flickered.

     And with that, Willow lay there and waited to die.


End file.
